


A Nightingale Sang

by katling



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: After Armageddon't, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Resolved Mutual Pining, Starts at the Ritz actually, flagrant abuse of ellipses, flagrant abuse of footnotes, just FYI, which is very close to Berkeyley Square
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: God moves in mysterious ways and She rather likes handing out rewards when Her plans go the way she wanted them to. And sometimes She has to meddle when the recipients of those rewards are so blindingly oblivious.Or from the Ritz to Berkeley Square - how birds sing, angels make confessions and demons get what they've always wanted.





	A Nightingale Sang

**Author's Note:**

> I have watched this show about half a dozen times so far so now you get fic. And I apologise in advance for my flagrant abuse of footnotes. I hope they all work, though I'm sure one or two won't. Sorry!

There was a nightingale singing in Berkeley Square.

He was rather smug about it, if we’re entirely honest. Not precisely about the singing. That was more or less his job. The location of the singing was making him very pleased with himself though. There was rather more traffic than he was accustomed to but the distinct lack of other nightingales to get in his way and sing songs that might be more attractive more than made up for it. He fully intended to keep singing too, as long as he could.

Meanwhile, over at the Ritz, two angels were dining. Or rather one angel was dining and one former-angel-now-a-demon was drinking very expensive champagne and watching his more angelic companion with thinly disguised affection.

Normally, a bird singing in an improbable location and two otherworldly beings consuming things they, strictly speaking, didn’t need to would not have any correlation at all. However, the deity smiling down on all of this with an ineffable yet faintly amused expression on Her face would disagree. She did, after all, always rather like it when plans worked out the way She wanted them to. 

And when plans worked out the way She wanted them to, She was always inclined to hand out rewards. 

Which brings us back to our angel and our demon.

“To the world.”

Crowley’s slouch was something of an art form these days. As it should be too. He’d spent centuries working on it – adjusting by an inch here, an artfully draped arm there, the slight move of his heel just so – to make it just enough to draw the eye and incite sinful thoughts in those who viewed it. And if he did it mostly to enjoy his angel’s semi-appreciative, semi-appalled reaction to it, well, that was his own business. 

“To the _world_ ,” Aziraphale said warmly in reply as he smiled at his demon.

He felt safe these days thinking that – _his_ demon – though he hadn’t tried saying it out loud. He’d had something of an epiphany the previous night after they’d come up with their plan and Crowley had fallen asleep. Admittedly, calling it an epiphany was probably giving it a bit too much credit. He had, after all, been aware for more millenia than he cared to admit that his feelings for Crowley had long ago gone past tolerance and friendship and into something… _more_.

He hadn’t ever dared in the past to properly admit it to himself, let alone the demon in question. He’d always thought that the worst Heaven would do to him was make him Fall and while the idea terrified him, to be sure[1], he only had to look at Crowley to know that it could be borne with a great deal of grace and wicked mischief. But Crowley… oh, if Hell had ever found out, it was far more of a crapshoot. They _might_ congratulate him and give him a medal for corrupting an angel or… they might kill him for _fraternising_. Aziraphale could and indeed had taken risks with his own corporeal being[2] but he would _never_ put his dear Crowley in that sort of danger.

But their plan… well, it had been all well and good[3] talking calmly and clinically about the most likely punishment that Heaven and Hell would choose – Hellfire and Holy Water respectively – and what to do about that and quite another, in the dim quiet darkness of Crowley’s flat after the demon had fallen asleep, to contemplate the magnitude of that idea. Crowley had shrugged off the idea of Hell killing him because… well, it was Hell and that was just the sort of thing they did. It had taken Aziraphale far longer to wrap his mind around the idea that Heaven would do something so… wrong[4].

In the wake of contemplating that Heaven was wrong about their likely choice of punishment and wrong about the whole possession thing and wrong about the whole apocalypse thing, it occurred to Aziraphale that maybe he and Heaven were wrong about love[5]. Not all love but the kind of love Aziraphale had been scuttling away from for the past several millennia. _Specific_ love. For just one person. Or demon, in this case.

Because Aziraphale had been in love with Crowley for a very long time. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. It had taken the demon in question hotfooting it down the aisle of a church in the middle of a war and saving some very precious books that Aziraphale had completely forgotten about to make him do just that. He had stood in the ruins of that church, the valise full of books clutched in one hand, and stared wonderingly after Crowley as the sure and certain knowledge that he was deeply, utterly, irrevocably and even a bit ineffably in love with this demon came crashing down around his ears.

He immediately buried it deep in his mind, of course. Hell and what they might do to Crowley if they found out being the main reason. He’d gotten spectacularly drunk about it though. Crowley had been there, of course, teasing him about his obliviousness to being played by the Germans, and perhaps only God knew how Aziraphale had managed to not give the whole game away right then and there. Maybe She’d realised there was still a few decades to go before they could be truly free and had helped him get a grip on his feelings.

But now, as he smiled at Crowley, he was of the opinion that maybe he could relax that grip and tell Crowley how he felt. Which, of course, led to a whole new field of worries about whether Crowley felt even slightly the same way and as a result, he suggested a walk.

Evening was starting to fall as they left the Ritz and Aziraphale had never really encountered an evening like it before in London. The air was just the right temperature, the setting sun was casting the perfect light and even the London smog seemed to have decided to have an evening off.

“So what now, angel?” Crowley said, breaking into his thoughts as they perambulated down the footpath.

“Well, a walk would be lovely and they perhaps a nightcap at the shop?” he suggested. “I haven’t seen it yet and you did say that there were some new books?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the interest he felt at that, wondering what changes Adam had made when he’d reset the world, and he missed the fondly exasperated look Crowley gave him as he prattled on about the shop and books and anything that might distract him from his epiphany and what he should do about it.

Neither of them had been paying particular attention[6] to the direction they were walking and were thus both a little surprised to find themselves walking through the gates of the gardens at Berkeley Square. They didn’t mind all that much after the initial surprise. It wasn’t one of their usual haunts but it was a very pleasant garden and…

Aziraphale cocked his head. “Is that a nightingale I hear singing?”

Crowley listened for a moment. “Nah,” he said with a languid wave of one hand. “You don’t get nightingales in London.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aziraphale replied as the drone of the cars passing by drowned out whatever bird had been singing. Though it truly had sounded like a nightingale. “And what will you do, my dear?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Hadn’t thought about it.”

That, of course, was a lie. Crowley had thought about it a great deal but he was a demon and lying came second nature to demons. Admittedly, Crowley tried not to lie too much to Aziraphale and mostly he succeeded. He certainly didn’t lie about the big stuff but little lies, like the one he’d just told, were the ones that often snuck through.

Because Crowley had thought about it a lot. While he had slept for a bit the previous night, it hadn’t been as much as Aziraphale thought. For part of the night, Crowley had simply lain in bed, still and silent, as his thoughts raced. If it all worked out how they wanted – which it had – they’d be free of their respective superiors and able to do whatever they wanted. Crowley knew what _he_ wanted but he so rarely knew what Aziraphale wanted. Not truly. The little things were easy to figure out – the little miracles that Aziraphale asked for without words and Crowley adored giving him – but the big things, like what Aziraphale might do with his freedom? Those were a mystery to him. A somewhat agonising mystery too because if he lost his angel _now_ , well, what was the point of everything they’d gone through?

“Might go travelling,” he said with a shrug.

Aziraphale felt a little pang of hurt spike within him at the thought that Crowley might just up and leave for God knows how long. “Oh. Well. That would be lovely for you.”

Crowley slouched a bit more than he normally did. “You could come with me?” he offered, aiming for casual and mostly hitting the mark.

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley briefly, trying to get a feel for if the invitation had been genuine or just for politeness’ sake[7]. “I… er… the shop…”

Crowley shrugged and his slouch became even more pronounced. Onlookers might wonder if he had a spine at all and the few who noticed actually winced. “S’Okay. You don’t have to.”

Aziraphale would be the first to admit that he was… well… _soft_. He liked his luxuries, his gentle life and all those good things that tended to inspire a certain amount of laziness. But he was, under all of that, an angel. A warrior for God, as it were, and there were times in the past when he’d had to discard his soft laziness, straighten his spine and get to it in a properly angelic sort of way. And it seemed to him[8] that this was one of those moments.

He stopped and turned to face Crowley. He was momentarily distracted by his demon’s extreme slouching before he pushed that out of his mind and summoned up the spirit of Jane Austen to give him a hand[9].

He took a deep breath. He didn’t need to but had always found that it helped when trying to get out the words he needed. He gingerly reached out to take one of Crowley’s hands before speaking. 

“Crowley, I have something I need to tell you and I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it but I simply _must_ tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long and all the reasons for me not doing so are gone so…” He drew in another breath and prepared himself for the rejection he thought was inevitable. “I love you. Not you _generally_ but you _specifically_. I am very much in love with you and have been for an awfully long time.”

Crowley had gone very still as he’d been speaking and Aziraphale couldn’t read him at all. And as Crowley’s stillness and silence stretched out interminably in the wake of his confession, he felt his heart start to sink. Despite his attempt to prepare himself for this, he had to say that the pain of his perceived rejection was exquisite and almost indescribable.

He finally dropped Crowley’s hand and swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “I see,” he croaked before clearing his throat again and trying to stop his voice from wobbling. “Well, perhaps that holiday you were thinking of would be a good id…mmph.”

That last word had been cut off by Crowley’s mouth covering his own. Crowley had struck like the snake he was more often than he was willing to admit. Before he’d even realised what was happening, Aziraphale had been grabbed by the shoulders and pulled in close and Crowley had kissed him. Was _still_ kissing him and now that Aziraphale’s brain had caught up, he kissed him back. 

Aziraphale had always found kissing to be delightful, not to mention a handy way of bestowing the odd blessing or two. He’d even _made the effort_ once or twice, less out of curiosity than because it had been the best and easiest way to deal with some _work-related_ matters. But none of that had ever come close to what it felt like being kissed by Crowley and Aziraphale finally understood why humans were so obsessed with the whole thing. Or maybe it was just that now he knew what it was like when personal feelings were involved.

When they finally parted[10], Crowley pressed their foreheads together and gave a helpless little laugh. “ _Angel_ ,” he said with the air of a man who has a great deal to say and not the _slightest_ idea of _how_ to say it.

Aziraphale smiled and cradled his demon’s cheek with one hand. “Crowley, my dearest.”

He had the distinct pleasure of watching a blush crawl up Crowley’s cheeks at that moment before Crowley said, “Shut up.”

He chuckled and gently pulled off Crowley’s glasses, smiling even more at the wonder and delight he could see in those beautiful snake eyes. “I shan’t. I love you most dearly, Crowley.”

The blush on Crowley’s cheek deepened and made Aziraphale want to grin at the thought that he’d made a demon blush. But then, Crowley had never really been _that_ sort of demon. 

Crowley then twitched slightly, almost as though he’d been smacked up the side of his head[11]. His jaw worked for a moment then he sighed and softened, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and letting his happiness show, just a little. “I love you too.”

Aziraphale positively beamed and any number of people walking past suddenly felt like the evening was just the most wonderful they’d had in a long time and perhaps they ought to go and do something nice, either for themselves or someone they loved.

“You’re projecting, angel,” Crowley said, watching the people walking past them with wry amusement. He was dimly aware that the people also weren’t paying much attention to everything that had just gone on and he knew _he_ wasn’t making them unremarkable. He presumed Aziraphale was. He was wrong but that didn’t matter.

Aziraphale glanced around and blushed himself. He then shrugged and chuckled. “Well, I’m sure they won’t mind.” He took Crowley’s hand again and entwined their fingers. A glance showed him that Crowley was staring at their joined hands with wonder and the same sort of mixed emotions that were running through him as well. “Shall we return to the shop? I’d very much like to see what Adam’s done to my cellar.”

Crowley dragged his eyes away from their hands and up to his angel’s face. There was a smile on Aziarphale’s face that promised many things beyond just inspecting the cellar and testing the quality of what Adam had put in there and Crowley found himself wanting to find out what all those things were. He returned the smile with a grin of his own and gave a snap of his fingers.

“Sure.” He waved a hand to the Bentley that was now parked outside the nearest gate. “I’ll drive.”

“You always do, my dear.”

They walked hand in hand out of the park towards the car and, as Crowley held the car door open for Aziraphale, he suddenly cocked his head slightly and frowned. “You know what? I think I _do_ hear a nightingale.”  
  


* * *

1 He’d been there when the angels Fell originally. He’d heard their screams of terror and fear and pain and anger and, really, he had far too much in the way of imagination for an angel. There were _reasons_ why he preferred not to sleep that often. And as much as Crowley tried to hide it, he knew the anguish and torment his friend felt about the whole thing. Once, about three leagues deep in their cups, Crowley had very plaintively said that all he’d done was ask questions. He hadn’t understood why that made him Fall but Aziraphale, who’d spent rather more time in and working for Heaven than Crowley had, understood perfectly. Questions were dangerous.[return to text]

2 Even though the discorporation paperwork was a true misery. And Heaven frowned on being discorporated too often. They understood that things occasionally _happened_ in the course of a miracle but one still shouldn’t be careless.[return to text]

3 It wasn’t. It wasn’t in the slightest.[return to text]

4 It was just as well he _had_ wrapped his mind around that concept – at least partially – because it had made hearing of his utter lack of a trial and the way Gabriel had just wanted to… _get rid of him_ from Crowley a little easier to bear. He was still more than a little heartsore but at least he’d been _braced_ for it.[return to text]

5 Actually, given recent events, Aziraphale was of the opinion that Heaven had forgotten what love was all about and that more of them needed to get out and about among the humans and be reminded of it. That if angels truly loved humanity as they were _supposed_ to, there would have been a lot more of them working to stop the Apocalypse then just him.[return to text]

6 Which was just as well. God finds it much easier to work in mysterious ways when people aren’t paying attention.[return to text]

7 Honestly, after 6000 years, Aziraphale should really have known that Crowley didn’t make offers like that frivolously. God was facepalming extensively at this point.[return to text]

8 God was truly meddling now. She wasn’t going to have Her rewards frittered away by dithering angels and coy demons.[return to text]

9 Only not really because even Jane, with her liking for pining and slow burn, was more than a bit exasperated with them.[return to text]

10 Which was quite some time later. Not having to actually breathe does have its advantages after all.[return to text]

11 He had. God was quite determined now.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> Note to self: Don't flagrantly abuse footnotes again. The html is a pain.


End file.
